Under the shade of towering trees, whose branches swayed to the haunting Sigur Ros-esque music played by a duo in the middle of NuArt Sculpture Park, we strolled in packs. We clung on to what was familiar: Spoke mainly our native language, and shared our thoughts within our respective groups. Our interaction with people outside…
museum
Photo Essay: Ai Pelo Prison Museum, East Timor
The Laperal White House, Baguio City: Ifugao Bamboo Carving Gallery
Memories of drunkenness and youth flowed like a stream. “Ma’m, hindi ho kayo pwede pumasok (Ma’m you’re not allowed to enter)”, a man stepped out of the shadows and warned my aunt. “No trespassing ho.” My aunt snickered. Everyone else snickered. We snickered our way back to an old house across the street which our…